Glad to have gone, glad to be back

The New Neo Posted on by

I’m back, after having gotten an eyeful and an earful of Paris. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

That’s just hyperbole, for the sake of a literary reference; but the truth is that it was both exhilarating and sobering. I plan quite a few more ruminations on topics stirred up by my visit, but right now I’m just glad to be back.

Glad to be back, indeed.

I’ve written before about how, when I was a schoolkid, our teachers made us memorize tons of poetry, much of it with about as much literary merit as a Hallmark greeting card. Due to the idiosyncrasies of my brain, much of this stuff is still with me and pops into my head at the oddest times, unbidden.

When I was in Europe, this was the verse (memorized in fifth grade, as I recall) that acted as a rather mild earworm:

AMERICA FOR ME by Henry Van Dyke

‘Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings, —
But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things.
So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

It ain’t great poetry, that’s for sure. It was exactly the sort of thing teachers were fond of force-feeding their students back in the 50s. It was a pre-ironic age; patriotism was sincere, and it was considered part of the job of the educational system to inspire it in our young–with second-rate verse, if need be.

We’re all so jaded and cynical now that a poem like this seems hopelessly outdated. But the sentiment is a classic; America really is one of the freest countries on earth, despite Bushhitler and the evil Rove. One feels it even more strongly after only a brief exposure to French justice.

[NOTE: Henry van Dyke, author of “America for Me,” was–suprisingly–a professor of English literature at Princeton, a Presbyterian clergyman, a lecturer at the University of Paris, and Minister to the Netherlands and Luxembourg. I guess he knew whereof he spoke.

Can you imagine these sorts of sentiments emerging–in populist verse, or otherwise–from the pen of an academic similarly situated today?]

Behind the facade of justice: French defamation law and freedom of what?

The New Neo Posted on by

I knew that Luré§at’s defamation trial was likely to be a short one.

The first France 2 libel suit, against Karsenty (see this for some background as to what these trials are about), had lasted only a few hours and was heard on a single afternoon. This had surprised me, and sparked a host of questions: why so short? Why hadn’t the defense compelled the release of the France 2 video taken by cameraman Talal on that fateful day at the Netzarim junction? Why had so little evidence in general been heard? In other words, what was going on here?

What I hadn’t realized was how US-centric my questions had been. Yes, of course, I knew that France has a different legal system than ours: theirs was based mainly on the Napoleonic Code, whereas ours was a predominantly common law system of evolving and changing interpretations of previous case law and statutes, under the overarching protection of the Constitution and Bill of Rights.

But surely, as two Western countries purporting to share a love of liberty, the law of France and that of the US shouldn’t be all that different.

It was only when I looked into the law of defamation under the French legal system that I realized the differences were not subtle, as I’d previously thought. They were major, reflecting profound differences in the attitudes of each country towards justice, its citizenry, society–and, in particular, the value and desirability of freedom of speech.

Here is a summary of French law concerning defamation; see pages thirteen and fourteen for the relevant material.

Essentially, France has made it incredibly easy to win a libel suit. Nearly all you need to do is to show that you were defamed (“any allegation or imputation of an act affecting the honor or reputation of the person or body against whom it is made”). I said “nearly all” because yes, there is a defense, and that is truth.

Well, that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? But it is bad, and this is why: the burden of proof in France falls on the defendant.

That’s such a dry, legal phrase: “burden of proof.” But what it means in practice is that it’s up to the person who made the defamatory statement to prove to a three-judge panel (not a jury; this reflects the fact that the French have far less trust in the decisions of its ordinary citizen than the US does) that the defamatory statement was true. Or, if the statement concerned a matter of public importance, he/she is required to prove that he/she conducted a serious investigation before making the statement, and that the statement was measured and objective and without even a trace of personal hostility.

Check out that word, prove. It means just what it says, not “indicate he/she had reason to believe it was true” or “suggest it might be true,” or even “prove it was most likely true.” It places the burden of proof in defending against a libel suit unconscionably— almost ludicrously—high.

Compare this to the American standard for defamation, particularly for public figures (and Charles Enderlin is nothing if not a public figure). The burden of proof in the US is entirely on the plaintiff to prove the statement was defamatory, false, and malicious. In New York Times v. Sullivan in 1964, the Supreme Court established the standard: the First Amendment protected “uninhibited, robust, and wide-open” criticism of public officials, at least unless it could be proved that the critic was deliberately lying or showed “reckless disregard” for the truth.

It turns out the US is serious””very very serious””about protecting First Amendment freedom of speech rights. It’s also less concerned than a country like France about the power of insults, or with the need to prevent slurs on one’s honor. “Whatever,” says the US, we can take it; what’s most important is the right to free speech. What’s most important to the French seems to be that society be courteous at all costs, even to public figures. And in making accusations against public figures, even a private citizen must make sure he has conducted a thorough investigation.

Of course, the need for a thorough investigation doesn’t seem to apply to Charles Enderlin or France 2. He’s free to broadcast any charge he wants (at least, as long as it’s PC)””for example, that the IDF murdered Mohammed al-Durah. He needs neither to prove his assertion, nor to defend himself against the charges that he misrepresented the facts, nor to show that he was conscientious in his duty as a journalist when he jumped to that conclusion based on Talal’s tapes—which present a one-minute scene embedded in almost a half-hour of other scenes that are obviously faked, do not show either father or son being hit and bleeding, and give no indication that the gunfire making the bullet holes in the wall behind al-Durah was coming from the IDF position, much less that he was shot by them.

So even if many murders were committed in the name of vengeance for al-Durah’s death at the hands of those nefarious Israeli soldiers, Enderlin knows there is no danger that anyone will call him to account—except, perhaps, the likes of defendants Karsenty, Luré§at, and Gouz. And he knows that he can always sue them with the full force of French law behind him, a law that presumes their guilt and his outraged innocence.

Well, France is France, you might say. It’s gotten along with this crazy system for hundreds of years, right? If they’re so deeply concerned that their sacred honor remain unbesmirched—even by “mere words”—and so unconcerned with the loss of their freedom of speech, what’s it to us?

Just this: we’re all potentially “caught in the crossfire” of the French press and the consequences of its allegations. It seems able to make nearly any assertion it wants with impunity, and fully ready to successfully squelch those French citizens who might dare to question the mighty reputations of France 2 and Charles Enderlin, who in 1988 earned the coveted title of grand reporter (you can look it up.)

The French press is a loose cannon, unable to be successfully challenged by its citizenry. And that’s the way the government wants it; after all, France 2 is owned and run by that government.

C’est la vie, c’est la guerre.

Paris observations

The New Neo Posted on by

It’s afternoon here, and I’m about to go out and do a bit of unaccustomed sightseeing.

What have I been doing instead? Mostly writing, talking, and eating. So now I’m going to take a few hours and do ye olde tourist thing, and then get back and write a more substantive post in my series on the trial, and on French attitudes and philosophy; I’ve got a lot more to say.

But here are just a few observation of the lighter variety:

(1) French style still exists, but it’s markedly attenuated. On my previous visits here (one in 1963—I was a mere child, of course—one in 1978, 0ne in 1993) there was an air of extreme sophistication, of bred-in-the-bone elegance, especially among the women. Now, walking down the street, if it weren’t for the French language and the beautiful old buildings, one could be in Anytown, USA. Jeans, jeans, and more jeans; sloppy shirts and sweaters of no particular style or shape, and cellphones sprouting everywhere like a new appendage joining the head and hand.

I did see one woman who seemed to be singlehandedly upholding the remnants of French style, like the Statue of Liberty with her torch. I wish I’d had my camera (I’m planning to take it with me this afternoon), because words cannot describe her outfit adequately. It was entirely apple green–or rather, neo-neocon Granny Smith Green—a fitted and stylish suit, and intricately embroidered lacy tights in the same green color. Shoes, as well, and a purse—all apple green. Sounds dreadful, but with her model-thin figure and striking auburn hair, she managed to pull it off.

(2) Every now and then you see a remnant of the old France, tiny old ladies with shopping bags, shuffling along with a baguette in the sack, slow but steady. They saw the Occupation, lived through it, and know that this, too, will pass. All of it.

(3) ATM machines are missing an important step in their English translations. When you get to the all-important “Press the confirm button” prompt—well, of course, there is no “confirm” button, nor is there a translation so that you can determine which one it might be.

And pressing all the buttons doesn’t work, as I can attest. The solution? Cherchez a passing American and get instructions. You’ll be glad you did.

(4) Paris has now joined the modern world and gotten the dog-poop-on-the-sidewalk problem under control. But alas, dogs no longer seem ubiquitous in restaurants.

(5) A lot of “women of a certain age” here have mastered the Jeanne Moreau look: mature, with huge circles under the eyes that somehow seem tres chic–on them. How do they manage it? They won’t tell me the secret—after all, they’re French.

And now I’m outta here. Back with more substantive stuff later.

The facade: encountering the Palais de Justice

The New Neo Posted on by

This experience is going to take a while to digest. So please bear with me, and don’t expect today’s post to bring you the definitive and complete reckoning of yesterday’s courtroom events and the larger meaning I draw from them, although that will come. This is more of an impressionistic first take.

First, some photos of the Palais de Justice, where the trial was held. Here’s the impressive gold-gilded imperial facade, even more imposing in person:


There isn’t a courthouse in the United States built in this particular style. That’s because there isn’t a courthouse in the US that could possibly have had this building’s aristocratic legacy. Furthermore, the American conception of the role of a courthouse, and the legal system it contains and facilitates, is quite different, as well.

You may think I’m speaking of architectural esthetics, but I’m not. I’m talking about how architecture can reflect an entire ethos, and symbolize in concrete (get it, concrete?) form the philosophy behind the building itself. And in this case the Palais de Justice seems an almost perfect paradigm of French justice, even though it was originally built for another purpose.

So we have a wonderful and intricate facade that attempts to impress with its splendor and glory (in this case, the aristocratic glory of yesteryear). Carved above the main entrance is the rallying cry of the French Revolution (minus the original “or death” addendum):


Yesterday we entered though a side door after a long wait in the line to have our bags searched. That meant we were a bit late, and so we began racing through the building too fast for me to even think to take photos of the inside of the building.

But I should have. Because despite my mad dash around the courthouse (a maze in which there was no direction, no order, no guide to where the numbered rooms might be, and no one interested in answering directions or expediting matters, as well as no one caring if we wandered in and out of offices and random judges’ chambers) I could still register with shock that the place was a shambles, in disrepair and disorder.

Some of the disorder was the result of the fact that they are renovating. But some of it was just the worn-out shabbiness of an interior that’s been neglected way too long.

Who were this “we” of which I speak? Myself and my interpreter, a young woman who’d graciously offered to translate the proceedings for me by whispering the English into my ear as events unfolded. She was the one who kept asking directions and getting them, as we circled inside the huge structure, raced up and down staircases and down hallways, opened doors and closed them, and came back to our starting point beside a broken x-ray machine that had taken up residence in the hall.

When we finally entered the courtroom it was small, with unattractive but ancient wood paneling and uncomfortable benches. The set-up told a tale, as well. There are three robed judges in a French court, almost never a jury (fraternite, my foot!). The lawyers and the witnesses address them, standing and facing the court with their backs to the proletariat spectators.

A gilded exterior and a hollow heart; that’s my impression of French justice after this trial (more about that, of course, later). And I discovered, while doing a little research, that this building has another history, one that reflects especially ironically on the failed promise of the slogan carved outside its portals.

The Palais was long the residence of French monarchs and aristocrats (and it’s appropriate, as you will see, because present-day French justice is loaded with respect and recognition of the newer aristocrats, those movers and shakers of influence and power).

But the Palais has an even darker (and to me, more relevant) past. It was the seat of “justice” during the Reign of Terror, that post-revolutionary phase that featured purges of nearly everyone who had offended anyone, without much benefit of trial or the ability to mount a defense:

Try to envision a sharply dressed, prosecutor, Fouquier-Tinville, who would arrive daily at 8:00 to his offices located in towers. He would have his daily conference with Sanson, a.k.a. Monsieur de Paris, the executioner. Together they would make up the hit-list du jour, and order the corresponding number of wagons.

The accused would then meet before the prosecutor, plead their cause, and await the verdict. Although a goodly number were acquitted or given lesser sentences, over two thousand were condemned to the “national razor”.

Despite the efficiency, Robespierre, the leader of the revolutionary government, became increasingly impatient and prodded Fouquier-Tinville to pick up the pace. To do so, a few formalities were dropped such as providing for defense. Soon, sentence was pronounced when the prisoner appeared in court.

The French no longer behead people—in fact, capital punishment is a definite no-no. And of course they don’t pronounce sentence when the prisoner arrives; the sentence for yesterday’s trial, for example, won’t officially be handed down till Nov 28. And, of course, this defendant had a lawyer to plead his case, and even if he is found guilty the fine will be very light.

But make no mistake about it: this appears to have been a show trial nevertheless. Everything about the demeanor of the judges and the plaintiff’s lawyer conveyed that thought: the lack of seriousness in the courtroom, the boredom and inattention of the judges, the paucity of evidence (or even interest in what meager evidence there was), the sloppy disregard of detail, the almost palpable absence of a spirit of inquiry.

Unlike the Reign of Terror, the facade of a fair system remains. But, at least to my eyes and ears, the interior of that system—the heart of the matter, which is the dispensation of justice—is shabby, faded, and dysfunctional.

I say “dysfunctional,” but I suppose judgment on that score would depend on what is perceived as the function of the system. If the goal is to defend liberty (freedom of speech, for example), all seems lost: “abandon hope, all who enter here.” Likewise, if the goal is equality.

If the goal, however, is to preserve the status and reputation of those with influence and power—the mandarins of France—then all is well. The facade is intact; on with the show, vive le république!

I’m off to the Palais de Justice

The New Neo Posted on by

I’m off to the Palais de Justice, and I’m not just sightseeing.

Today is the occasion of the second al Durah/France2 defamation trial, that of defendant Pierre Luré§at :

Luré§at, 39, a Jerusalem resident and president of an association called Liberty, Democracy and Judaism, was sued because he is the leader of an organization listed as the legal operator of a Web site, www.liguededefensejuive.com, that urged readers to attend a planned demonstration against France2 in 2002: “Come demonstrate against the lies of France2,” it said, “and the gross manipulation with an award for disinformation to France2 and Charles Enderlin.”

Those of you who are used to the free-for-all that is the internet are probably more than a bit perplexed as to what the big deal is here. That this sort of statement could be a cause of action in any court in a country that considers itself to be a modern, developed, progressive nation—not to mention a bastion of liberty—is ludicrous.

Let’s put aside for the moment the question of whether the accusations this defendant made against France2 and Enderlin are true, as blogger and historian Richard Landes (and, in the interests of full disclosure, acquaintance and friend of mine) has suggested at his website Second Draft and his blog Augean Stables.

Forget it? Isn’t it of the utmost importance? Absolutely of the utmost importance. I happen to believe the evidence is strong that both France2 and Enderlin may have done exactly what Luré§at and the other two defendents have accused them of doing (at the very least the plaintiffs almost certainly lied in their original allegations that the Israelis deliberately killed the boy, and about the amount of footage they had and what it showed; I’ve written at some length on al Durah/France2 before, here and here.)

I’ll be writing more about the many issues involved in these cases (Landes has written a piece on the “justice” involved in the verdict from the first trial, that of Karsenty; he rightly calls it “aristocratic justice”—which, of course, is an oxymoron—and likens it to that initially extended to Dreyfus). But for the moment, I merely stand in awe of the colossal arrogance of France2 and Enderlin, and the contempt they show for freedom of speech and for the right to demonstrate peacably, by the mere act of bringing these lawsuits.

Can you imagine a similar lawsuit brought by CNN, for example, or NPR, in the US? I’m not a fan of the journalistic standards of either organization, but that low they would not go.

Of course, one of the reasons is that US law would not let them; defamation, especially of a public figure, is exceptionally hard to prove under common law rules such as that of NY Times vs. Sullivan, which established the standard that:

The First Amendment protects the publication of all statements, even false ones, about the conduct of public officials except when statements are made with actual malice (with knowledge that they are false or in reckless disregard of their truth or falsity).

France’s justice system has a very different standard, as France2 and Enderlin were well aware before commencing these particular suits. It’s also of note—in a sort of poetic, metaphoric way—that in France the trial is being held in a building known as a “palace” (there’s that aristocratic echo being sounded again), while Luré§at’s association is called “Liberty, Democracy, and Judaism,” in what I imagine might be a somewhat ironic commentary on the famous sentiment of the French revolution “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.”

What sort of liberty is it that produces a legal system that allows a well-known reporter a cause of action against a private citizen for calling his news report a lie? And what sort of liberty is it that produces a legal system that does away with the presumption of innocence for that defendant? (See pages 13-14 of this document for clarification; it appears to be up to the defendants here to prove Enderlin lied rather than for Enderlin to prove he told the truth and that they acted maliciously, as in the US.)

It’s been raining off and on in France ever since I’ve been here. I’ve had an excellent trip thus far, absorbing the beauty of the buildings, the people, the fashion, the food (ah, above all the food!) and the general ambiance.

But I can’t ignore the chill that’s in the air here, and I’m not talking about the weather. That a news organization cannot be criticized by a private citizen such as Luré§at (or previous defendent Philippe Karsenty or upcoming defendant Charles Gouz) without such citizens being afraid of being slammed with a lawsuit should rightly send a shiver down the spine of every freedom-loving citizen of the world.

It’s no accident, of course, that the law under which Karsenty, Luré§at, and Gouz are being prosecuted is the same one that was used to convict Emile Zola of defamation for his critical role in writing about the Dreyfus affair.

Zola declared:

In making these accusations, I am fully aware that my action comes under Articles 30 and 31 of the law of 29 July 1881 on the press, which makes libel a punishable offense. I deliberately expose myself to that law.

Zola was convicted of libel in 1897; he fled the country but ultimately returned and the charges against him were dismissed. He died a few years later under “mysterious circumstances” and never lived to see Dreyfus exonerated.

But I’ll give Zola the final word today. What he said was true then, although the wheels of justice ground slow. I hope his words are as true now as they were then, and that events will move far more quickly toward that desired end:

The truth is on the march, and nothing shall stop it.

The last time I saw Neo…

The New Neo Posted on by

…she was traveling.

Actually, for the entire past month I’ve been traveling far more than is my usual practice—so often I’ve practically lost count.

But this is the largest of my trips so far. Where am I? There’s a hint in the title of this post. Another hint is the time-stamp—why am I uploading this in what appears to be the wee hours of the morning?

Because, in fact, although it’s indeed morning here, the hours aren’t so very wee. Yes, gentle readers, your intrepid world-traveler and reporter extraordinaire, neo-neocon, is in Paris, the belly of the beast. Although Paris is more like Beauty, despite the fact that rain and clouds are predicted for much of my stay.

After a fairly rapid plane journey (and can somebody please tell me why it takes only a tiny bit longer to cross the six-hour time difference from the Eastern US to France than it takes to cross the continental US, which gives you a mere three-hour difference?) I reached the crowded Charles de Gaulle airport early in the morning on Sunday.

The initial theme of my Paris stay has been: stairs.

As we disembarked from the plane, it was announced that, to get to the main terminal, “you’re going to need to be able to climb a couple of stairs.” That didn’t daunt me, despite an extra-heavy carry-on—I can do stairs. But this turned out to be a full two and a half flights, up all the way rather than down. Call me a spoiled American if you wish (and the French might undoubtedly wish), but I wonder why it is that—despite France’s trailblazing history (“The first escalator installed for public use was at the Paris Exposition of 1900”), this century-old miracle doesn’t seem to have arrived yet to De Gaulle.

And then there’s the elevator, another relatively ancient invention. The one in the lovely and well-situated apartment where I’m staying (a friend’s kind hospitality) has a single flaw—it was broken when I arrived. Thus, the stair theme continued as I followed the sweating (and no doubt cursing, had I been able to understand French and/or read his mind) concierge up a full seven (count ’em, sept) flights of stairs, he hauling my far-too-heavy suitcase and I lugging my far-too-heavy carry-on (blame the computer and all its accoutrements) behind.

I’ve only been here a day, and I’ve already had a good meal with convivial company, so don’t think I’m complaining. I’m not. And the elevator has now been repaired—a model of efficiency, relatively speaking. Efficient and energy-saving, also, are the hallway and stairway lights that are on timers, and helpfully turn themselves off when they decree I’ve had time enough to do whatever it is I might have been doing—such as climb the stairs faster—plunging me into darkness until I figure out where the tiny glowing light switch is.

My computer works, and it optimistically assumes I want to search Google in French (“Bienvenue dans Firefox 1.0, le nouveau navigateur facile é  utiliser de Mozilla”) and to emigrate (“Do you want to miss your chance to live and work in the USA?”). I’ve successfully negotiated the Metro, although not without stopping several people for help. I managed to work my customary magical spell on gadgetry by unaccountably sending the cellphone I was kindly given into “lock” mode (I knew this because a picture of a key appeared on its screen and I could neither make nor receive calls for a while; the instructions to unlock it were—d’accord!—in French).

A wonderful anomaly—this one not without some charm—is the key. I’ve taken the liberty of photographing it next to an American quarter for scale:

My stay has been great so far (about twenty-four hours), and exciting. So, why am I here? Funny you should ask. I plan, of course, to sightsee (and maybe even shop), but it’s a working vacation: I’m doing some interviewing and plan to be writing. Details to emerge later.

We may suffer harsh winters, but at least we have this

The New Neo Posted on by

It’s autumn in New England. No surprise there. And calendar-worthy fall scenes are a dime a dozen here–have camera, point, and shoot.

But not always. All too often, my own photos turn out to be pedestrian shots of brightly-colored leaves, pretty but nondescript. The colors are never quite as intense as reality, the three-dimensional effect and the light filtering through the foliage not enough like the real thing.

Which is as it should be, I suppose. The real thing is what gets us outside, into that fresh and crisp autumn air–minus the smell of burning leaves, madeleine-like memory of my youth.

Ah, but fortunately, I have friends who are much better photographers than I. Plus they have better cameras, but that’s not really their secret. A photographer has to have a certain “eye,” and patience, and the ability to “see” what will be in the frame.

So here, without further ado, I present some of my favorites from this year’s fall photos taken by a friend:

And then this one, taken at a party at the house of another friend who’s fortunate to live on a bay and have this view of sunset:

Which segues to this, as the sun sinks even lower and disappears for another day:

Not a bad place to be on a beautiful autumn eve.

Wars, civil and/or religious: Part III (nationalism and Iraq)

The New Neo Posted on by

The Thirty Years War of 1618-1648 was the last major religious war in Europe, and it was a lulu.

I challenge anyone who’s not already a student of European history to wade through that Wikipedia article linked above–it’s dense with brain-fogging facts. The gist of the story seems to be that the war was a religious one (Catholic vs. Protestant) but, like most religious wars, it was also a jockeying for power and territory based on regional and other differences. The war could almost be said to have been a mini-World War, because it encompassed so much of Western Europe before it was over, and caused such widespread death and devastation.

The War was ended by the Peace of Westphalia, which was:

…instrumental in laying the foundations for what are even today considered the basic tenets of the sovereign nation-state. Aside from establishing fixed territorial boundaries for many of the countries involved in the ordeal (as well as for the newer ones created afterwards), the Peace of Westphalia changed the relationship of subjects to their rulers. In earlier times, people had tended to have overlapping political and religious loyalties. Now, it was agreed that the citizenry of a respective nation were subjected first and foremost to the laws and whims of their own respective government rather than to those of neighboring powers, be they religious or secular.

So what we have here is a long-term and devastating religious war that splintered Europe for a while but ultimately ended up building the foundations for modern nationalism, an allegiance that transcends religious and ethnic differences and unites the residents of a certain geographical area in a perception of relative unity. Of course, nations often have a predominant (or even state) religious identity, and often consist mainly of a particular ethnic group, but they are virtually always some sort of amalgam, and the most successful nations manage to transcend those internal divisions.

Nationalism, however–even in Europe–is a relatively recent phenomenon, solidifying mostly in the nineteenth century. Before that–in the immortal words of Massachusetts Congressman Tip O’Neill, who said it in a very different context–all politics was local.

How does nationalism relate to the current crisis in Iraq, and to the rest of the Arab world? One aspect of the current struggle is that a certain hefty percentage of the Iraqi population–although we don’t know how large a group this is–sees its allegiance as religious rather than national. Saddam exacerbated these divisions by favoring Sunnis and persecuting Shiites, and the early post-war atmosphere perpetuated this pattern, with Sunni-on-Shiite violence predominating. For a while, the calming words of the Shiite cleric Sistani stayed the hand of Shiite retribution, but that’s no longer the case, and we do see a cycle of violence and a struggle for power occurring.

This could be countered by nationalism, which is trying to dominate factionalism. That’s why the debate as to whether federalism could be a solution in Iraq is such an important one. Federalism is a tool to deal with the unification of a group made of disparate elements: e pluribus unum, after all.

How do nations get born? Some are lucky–they share a language and, more importantly, a sense of being a nation. Nationality doesn’t rest on any one characteristic, but is more of a perception: “Many students of nationalism are eventually led to the (almost tautological) conclusion that people belong to a certain nation if they feel that they belong to it.”

Nationalism a uniting force that can be countered by two opposing principles: a fracturing one and a pan-uniting one. The first is the fracturing force of regionalism, religious and ethnic and political differences; factors that can splinter an entity that might otherwise be poised to unify or that already was unified under a strongman or outside force (the breakup of Yugoslavia is a good example of the latter, likewise the USSR).

The second principle countering nationalism, the pan-uniting one, exists through allegiances that transcend even that of the nation, and dictate loyalty to a more international group.

Thus, one of the linchpins of anti-Semitism has always been a perception of Jews as an extra-national force of global reach (and evil designs, of course). Another example is one I remember from my youth, when some people objected to the Presidential aspirations of the Catholic JFK because they didn’t “want the Pope running the US.”

Pan-Arabism, or even unification of the entire umma, has always been a dream for some in the Arab and/or Muslim world. Even Saddam was originally a pan-Arabist, and although he retreated from that overt stance quite early on, he apparently never quite gave up his aspirations to be the dominant power in the Arab world. And of course Iran, likewise, wishes to establish a new pan-Islamic Caliphate under Shiite rather than Sunni rule.

So, paradoxically, some of the conflict in Iraq is of the divisive (or local) variety: various home-grown groups jockeying for position, power, and revenge, while some of it is fueled by the unifying, pan-Muslim vision, which relies on foreign powers such as Iran to stir the pot, feeds into the local groups, and is likewise broken down along Sunni-Shia lines. The countering force to both would be nationalism, federal or otherwise, of a type that respects differences and allows each faction its say and its rights.

The war in Iraq was supposed to help usher in such an era. Some never thought it would be easy (I count myself among them). Some, no doubt, underestimated the difficulties that lay ahead. As I’ve written before, dictatorships offer one solution to the dilemma–they can impose nationalism with a strong and tyrannical will, and the ruthless power to back it up, but at great human cost. The other way–the way that’s being tried in Iraq–can lead to chaos and civil war, which has other costs.

The United States is somewhat unique–and definitely fortunate–in being a nation whose greatest unifying force (other than geography) is a shared set of ideals and principles, and with a Constitution that aims to establish and protect (relatively successfully, so far, despite the “Bushhitler” proclamations) the rights granted therein.

Our postwar occupations of West Germany and Japan managed, somehow, to counter the forces of anarchy there and allow stable nations to re-establish themselves. The key word might be “re-establish;” both countries had a strong sense of nationality prior to the war (in each case, probably too strong, a fact which helped lead to their aggressiveness in World War II). Both nations had also experienced the devastion of a prolonged world war and utter defeat.

Current opinion is divided on how strong Iraq’s sense of nationhood is: whether it was artificially imposed by the somewhat arbitrary division of the Ottoman Empire post-World War I, and then artificially continued by Saddam’s dictatorship–or whether is draws on a strong sense of togetherness based on an ancient and proud history. In dispute, as well, is whether Western notions of human rights can be grafted onto it.

One thing is for certain: there are many strong forces trying to dictate otherwise, who are not interested in a unified Iraq with a strong constitution that guarantees the human rights of all its inhabitants.

Wars, civil and/or religious: Part II (religious war)

The New Neo Posted on by

We in the modern west have grown unused to the concept of religious war. In fact, the very term seems un-PC, like the word “crusade.” Wars of religion have come to be regarded as mere screens for other motivators: socioeconomic inequalities, political power struggles, racial differences.

It’s probably true that few, if any, religious wars have ever been purely religious. But we cannot and should not ignore the force of religious differences as one potent motivator, both in the past and today, for wars. And please, don’t subscribe to the notion that religion is therefore the root of all evil and all war; it most decidedly is not. But ideas have consequences, and religions are ideas with both consequences and legs.

I don’t know about you, but I was the one snoozing at my desk when we took up subjects like the Thirty Years’ War in European History during my junior year of high school. Catholics at war with Protestants? What? The Huguenots? Who? In my community, the Protestants and the Catholics were on good terms (although, come to think of it, there were virtually no Protestants where I grew up–it was all Italian, all the time), and the idea of a religious war between them was preposterous.

This was, of course, shortly before the resumption of The Troubles in Northern Ireland, in which the reality of war between Protestants and Catholics was restored. But this seemed a local skirmish that had less to do with differences of worship and more to do with what group would hold the reins of political power.

The split between Sunni and Shiite was even more remote. But it clearly has also had political as well as ideological/religious elements: the Shiite felt disempowered since 938 (!!) by the disappearance of the Twelfth Iman and the ascension to power of Sunni clerics for the next–well, for the next millennium, until the (Sunni) caliphate fell at the end of the Ottoman Empire. The ascendance of the Ayatollah Khomeini to the reins of Shiite dictatorship in Iran was, among other things, a turning point for the Shiite in terms of regaining power in the heretofore Sunni-dominated Muslim world.

Sunnis, on the other hand, experienced the loss of the Ottoman Caliphate as a nearly mortal blow, and have been struggling for a replacement ever since. Thus, the rise of various fundamentalist Sunni movements such as the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, which was part of the inspiration for al Qaeda. In a post-9/11 explanatory tape, Bin Laden himself cited the end of the Ottoman Empire as a catastrophe for which 9/11 was meant to be payback.

So, there are two religious conflicts going on in the Muslim world: a longstanding intra-religious one (Sunni/Shiite) that goes back to the tenth century and has heated up with the fall of the Caliphate, and a longstanding inter-religious war that goes back even further, but has recently been heated up with the fall of the Caliphate as well because that fall has been attributed to Western influence. Furthermore, both strains are outraged at what is seen as the decadence of the Western world, an influence felt more and more by Muslims due to the pace of modern life and communications, as well as actual hot wars in places such as Iraq, and the presence of the non-Muslim state of Israel on a tiny sliver of land that had been in Ottoman hands for centuries.

So, the conflict is nothing new; it just seemed quiescent for a while, and that calm was illusory. The relative “stability” afforded by Saddam Hussein’s regime was the opposition his Sunni-led (although Shiite-majority) state provided to Iran’s power. Those who criticized our invasion of Iraq on the realpolitik grounds that it would upset that particular balance may have been correct, although it’s too soon to tell how things will ultimately play out.

(By the way, it’s interesting that many of the same people on the Left who criticized the Iraq invasion on those grounds also criticized–ex-post-facto, as best I can determine–the realpolitik of our support for Saddam against Iran during the Iraq/Iran war of the 80s. Of course, consistency was never one of the Left’s strong suits. But I digress.)

These forces in the Muslim world may be destined to battle it out, as they have for a long time. The difference is that today their battle affects us directly. In some ways it really doesn’t matter to us whether Sunni or Shiite win, because the danger comes (as it often does) from the extremists and jihadis on both sides, and it’s hard to judge whose are worse.

For the Sunnis, those extremists have been concentrated mostly in the form of terrorists, who tend to operate extra-nationally, across many states, and without being at the helm of one (ever since the fall of the Taliban, that is, when they lost the stronghold of state-sponsored Sunni terrorism, Afghanistan). Shiite extremism, on the other hand, has for decades been centered in a state, Iran, which has sponsored terrorists such as the Shiite Hezbollah, and which clearly has present-day nuclear aspirations.

Saddam was an anomaly, in a way. He was a Sunni in charge of a Shiite state, and he persecuted and murdered a large number of the latter, whom he feared. He was a vicious dictator in the mold of secular leaders such as Stalin (whom he revered and emulated), but he was not above using religion for his own purposes. He constituted a threat to the region during the Gulf War, was in violation of countless UN resolutions, and was thought by the entire world community prior to the US invasion of Iraq to have nuclear and chemical weapons, which would have posed a danger to his neighbors–and to the west, if he’d sold them to terrorists. Saddam was both a tyrant and a loose cannon, and it seemed to many to have been a reasonable roll of the dice at the time to take him out.

Like it or not (and most of us don’t like it), ever since the late 70s, with the ascendancy of the Ayatollahs’ theocracy in Iran (and perhaps even before), we have been intimately and inextricably engaged in the intra- and inter-religious wars going on in the Muslim world. The current Iraq crisis is one chapter in those wars. It won’t be the last, nor is it likely to be the worst. And yes, indeed, those wars are both religous and political, as religious wars have always been.

[If I maintain the energy and inclination, tomorrow may feature Part III, on Europe’s religious Protestant/Catholic wars. Or there may be another part, on the rise of nationalism, and what makes a nation a nation. Or none of the above. We’ll see.]